


i shut my eyes and fall ('cause i know you're right behind me)

by irrelevant_owl



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Ahh I'm so sorry, Alternate Universe - College/University, Cole is the best, F/M, Ruby ships them two oblivious souls, Shirbert, pls forgive me :0
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 05:56:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15902241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrelevant_owl/pseuds/irrelevant_owl
Summary: "I’ve seen you before.""… so have I."-----------------------Anne survives a near fatal knife attack, and Gilbert rescues her. She doesn't remember much, but she remembers him.(TW for mild descriptions of blood. It's not very descriptive at all, but I tagged it to be safe, and your safety is more important than this fic <3)





	i shut my eyes and fall ('cause i know you're right behind me)

**Author's Note:**

> Hellooo friends!
> 
> First off: Hi! I'm new here and this is my first fic, ever! Thank you for checking this out, it means all the world to me!!
> 
> Second: This idea has been bouncing around my head for a little while now, it started with those two lines in the summary and kind of spiraled from there. I love these two with all my heart (my heart literally EXPLODES every time they make eye contact eeeeEEE) and am passionately waiting on season 3!!
> 
> Third: I feel a little weird posting this, especially since it's based on a kinda risky subject. If you feel this is something that could be triggering, please avoid this fic. Also, I have no personal experience with any sort of attack like this whatsoever, and if I represented something wrong or said something totally inaccurate, please correct me. 
> 
> I also probably made some spelling/ grammar errors since, what even is English, but I promise I'm trying my best. 
> 
> Thank you!! Enjoy!!

It’s dark, so incredibly dark, and Anne is cold. The stars dust the indigo dome like perfume, pulsing and twinkling, but their light doesn’t reach her. They’re familiar. Everything about this place is so familiar. Her gaunt fingers tug at the fraying neckline of her dress. She’s suffocating, and everything is too warm and too cold and too comfortable in the worst kind of way.

 

She doesn’t remember how she got here. She doesn’t know where she is. She can’t find the will to push herself up off the cobblestones and march the hell out of there. All she can do is press herself against the wall, ground herself in the feeling of stone beneath her fingertips and the rough stucco digging into her back, try to ignore the overwhelming apprehension she can’t seem to explain.

 

Maybe she could fall asleep here. That doesn’t sound like such a bad option. You can’t fear what you can’t see. Although, the logical part of her contradicts, you only fear what you can’t see. Her eyelids are heavy, burning like recently extinguished embers. When she blinks, she’s underwater. It’s slightly amusing, despite her current predicament.

 

She blinks a few times for pure cynical amusement. Submerge, reemerge, submerge, reemerge. She imagines that she’s a mermaid, a beautiful crown princess who returns from a journey around the world, only to find her underwater city in ruin. Childish, yes, but sometimes she thinks childish ideals are the only ones worth having. The water bubbles, clear and pearly, around her pale skin, golden curls floating.

 

She blinks again, and someone is in front of her. She jerks back in shock. Male, swathed in black, crouched like a barn owl, arms poised like wings. Anne can’t tell if she’s hallucinating, but either way doesn’t have the energy to scream. She pushes herself further into the textured walls, revelling in the fact that she’s able to feel something, find solace in sensation. 

 

He does nothing, just stays crouched at her eye level, a hood obscuring his eyes. When he shifts, from toes to hands and knees, she recoils, heart pounding, but her fear is based more on animal instinct, on over-heightened alertness, than a real need. 

 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, it occurs to her that she’s really not scared at all.

 

He pulls back his hood, slowly, and she allows herself to exhale. There’s nothing in his dark, dark eyes that seems hostile, or threatening, or dangerous in any way. She’s so entangled in physical perception, craving sensation, anything to tie her soul to the narrow alleyway she can’t seem to leave. Her body acts without her will, without any rational thought, in jerky, awkward movements. She can hear her heartbeat, pressed close to her ear. Her breathing is suddenly unreasonably loud. Her ghostly pale hand extends, trembling, and brushes his forehead.

 

Everything stills.

 

_ She’s numb, the kind of numb that your body erects as a shell to block out pain. Semi-consciousness is inconvenient; she feels like a spirit, hyper-aware and omniscient, but unable to control anything or say a word or move a muscle. She’s floating, wrapped in arms that aren’t her own. The all-knowing spirit in her knows she’s headed towards safety. _

 

She blinks, submerging and re-emerging, therapeutic water against her skin, tossing back her soaked hair. It dawns on her.

 

_ I’ve seen you before. _

 

_ … so have I.  _

 

He extends his hand, and she takes it, and she stands up. 

 

_ I had a feeling you’d be here. Let’s get you home, okay? _

 

Logic would tell her to pull her arm back and run. Instinct says strongly otherwise. She nods, and he holds her hand the entire way back to her dorm. 

 

\-------------------------

_ She doesn’t realize until it’s too late. Night swallows the lavender sky, the light, her chance of escaping. She keeps her gaze down, fixed on the cracking cobblestone, tracing the jagged lines. _

 

_ There’s no one behind her, and suddenly there is. At first, she’s not worried. She’s in her own world, imagination on steroids. Rain begins to fall, a quiet mist blanketing the city in silence. _

 

_ The footsteps behind her are gaining. She speeds up as well, focusing on avoiding the forming puddles. _

 

_ Behind her, a flash of silver. Her body freezes. She can’t bring herself turn around. She forces herself to take another step, but her body jerks in the other direction. From the corner of her eyes, she sees shadows, concrete, cobblestone, a dark rain coat, harsh glistening of a silver blade. _

 

_ It’s over. _

 

\-------------------------

 

“Diana, I’ve already sworn  _ never _ to endanger our friendship like this again, what else do you want from me?”

 

“Maybe I don’t  _ want  _ anything, have you considered that? Maybe it’s simply common decency that you inform me the next time-”

 

“ _ It’s not like I planned this out _ , I’m not intentionally searching for trouble!” 

 

Diana shifts onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow on her bed, leaning over the blue quilted blanket to where her best friend is pressed against the wooden frame, knees drawn in to her chest. Her face is pale, shadows under her eyes dusky purple and prominent. Part of her wants to climb down, wrap her arms around her trembling best friend, but the other tells her to keep her distance, to let her heal on her own. Yes, she’s worried for her friend ( _ so unbelievably worried _ ), and yes, she has questions ( _ so many questions _ ), but she doesn’t want to tread on sensitive material before Anne addresses it herself. 

She’s in uncharted waters, she’s running on four hours of sleep and poorly caffeinated tea, and her empathy is uncharacteristically low.

 

“You know what? This is pointless. Just- you should just get some sleep, after all, you only came home at  _ 4 in the morning _ from  _ who knows where _ . ” 

 

Anne cranes her slender neck, wisps of ginger escaping her braids, and smiles tiredly. “Diana, don’t try so hard. You’re easier to read than you think.” She pauses , raising an eyebrow.

 

“Anne,  _ of course  _ I care. But… I’m- I can’t help but be worried for you. And the  _ last _ thing i wanna do is push you.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Yes, you know, and yet you still believe that waltzing through Portland at nearly midnight is a good idea?”

 

“It’s not like I remember much. I guess that’s why I’m not as… traumatized as I should be.” She stretches her arms in a shrug, revealing the jagged criss-crosses running along her pale skin.

 

“But it’s…Anne, memories don’t stay hidden forever. Your mind can only keep up barriers for so long. And Dr. Ward wants you to start therapy in a month, that’ll only speed things up.” 

 

“Don’t worry about me, Diana. I’m a master of barriers. Like a… ooh, a beautiful, willow oak tree with the most beautiful, silky smooth bark, but I’m completely hollow inside.” She giggles to herself, high pitched and childish.

 

Diana props herself up so that her feet dangle over the side of the bed, mostly to buy herself time. She’s not sure whether to be more shocked by Anne’s abrasive dismissal or her casual attitude toward one of the most serious moments of her life. “I’m sure you know yourself best, but I’m not going to push you. Not till after you talk it out with a professional. Just… please. Keep yourself safe”

 

There’s no humor in her airy laugh. “ _ No matter how she is warned, the moth will go to the flame. _ It’s the inevitable. I guess, you know, part of me  _ wants to know _ . I  _ need _ to know, in some kinda sick twisted way, I guess, before I can feel whole again. It’s stupid, I know.” She adds the last bit hastily, a dark chuckle escaping her lips.

 

The shock hits her with an unexpected kind of force. Diana climbs off her bed, kneels down by her friend. “You went back, didn’t you?” Anne doesn’t respond, just drops her gaze to her folded hands, biting her lip. “Anne, you’re scared. You’re scared that you don’t know, and you’re scared of what will happen when you  _ do  _ know. It’s fine, it’s totally fine to be afraid. I just- …  I don’t want you in danger. If talking will help you,  _ talk to me. _ ”

 

Anne just smiles one of those enchanting dreamy half-smiles, pushes her hair out of her eyes. “My dearest friend, how lucky I am to have someone like you.” She squeezes Diana’s arm, then curls up in her bedsheets.

 

How long she sits there, watching her best friend’s form rise and fall, irregular as the sea tide, Diana doesn’t know.

 

\-------------------------

 

She’s curled up in the back of a coffee shop, the heat quickly evaporating from her untouched hot chocolate, scribbling ideas that materialize in her mind. Her imagination is bursting with colors, ideas, concepts yet to be invented. Words are her weapons, the paper is her battlefield, and she lets her imagination take free reign, etching her legacy.

 

Most students wouldn’t devote their Friday evenings to class assignments, but Anne didn’t decide to travel over 3000 miles to study English in Portland for nothing. She likes the damp quietness of the shop on Fridays, the emptiness of the 500 square foot lobby, the fact that the most tattered, loved couch in the darkest corner is completely empty and free for her taking.

 

It’s the first time she’s ventured out alone after  _ the accident _ . It really shouldn’t scare her that much, it’s not like she remembers anything anyway, but somehow it’s always haunting her, the fact that  _ she’s been attacked _ and  _ she’s nearly died _ . It’s terrifying, and her eyes widen and her heartbeat quickens every time she thinks about it for too long. It’s comforting to have someone accompany her, but she wanted quiet time to work on her novel alone. The last time she dragged Cole along on one of her escapades, she could practically sense the resistance radiating off his stiffening clay-tinted hands every time she got distracted by a new bookstore.

 

The door opens, the distinct chimes clinking. She pushes a twin braid over her shoulder, tears her eyes away from her pockmarked journal. Her fingers tighten into a fist.

 

The man who just entered is turned away from her, hood up, hands in pockets, lingering awkwardly by the counter, but she saw.

 

_ She knew. _

 

He has the eyes of a lynx, the stance of an owl, like he's in a constant state of hyper-alertness.

 

_ He’s so familiar. _

 

Her body contracts, without her volition, and her hot chocolate topples, oozing ochre warmth into the tile floor. A barista peeks out from the stockroom, her golden hair held away from her face in a thin braid.

 

“Ohmigod I’m so sorry! I’ll clean it up I promise!” She launches off the couch, scattering her papers like petals in a snowstorm.

 

“Don’t worry about it. Leave the mug here when you’re done, k?”

 

She glances at her with momentary gratefulness, then proceeds to gather as many paper napkins as she possibly can fit into her hand. She’s too preoccupied to notice that  _ he’s _ looking at her. Too caught up in her own world to see that he’s staring at her with shock, with inhibition, that he’s not sure whether to approach her or not.

 

_ Thank god the mug itself isn’t shattered. _ She crouches on the floor, the pleats of her skirt fluttering around her knees, furiously mopping up her spilled drink, when someone taps her on the shoulder.

 

She doesn’t have to look back to know who it is.

 

“Can I- uh, help you, miss?”

 

Her face flushes, her heartbeat doubles. He looks concerned, but also on the verge of breaking into giggles. He’s cloaked in black, fresh raindrops freckling his raincoat like stars. 

 

“Uh, no thanks. I’m-”, she pauses to swallow, “fine.”

 

He raises an eyebrow, but acquiesces. “Okay.”

 

Somehow, this is worse. He’s not helping her, but he’s hovering awkwardly behind her. It’s annoying, because she can’t focus on the job at hand anymore. Finally, she pushes herself off the ground with a huff, discarding the soaked napkins and grabbing new ones. 

 

“Would you, um. Mind moving back a little, maybe?”

 

He nods, steps back, but continues to watch her. It’s not thirty seconds before she spins to face him, bristling. “Sorry, but it would really help if you would keep  _ out of the way _ . Please.”

 

The corners of his lips quirk up. “Anything for you.” 

 

That only infuriates her more, and her seams are cracking. Forget the fact that it feels like she owes him her life, she’s angry, and the crimson clouding her vision always wins. The napkins fly from her hands as she flings her arms outward from her body. 

 

“I’m sorry, but how- How  _ dare  _ you? You’re a  _ complete stranger _ , and-and I owe you  _ nothing  _ and it’s  _ so utterly rude  _ to tease someone you don’t know about a  _ simple accident _ ! I’m perfectly entitled to  _ not _ accept your help, and oh yeah, I’m  _ sure _ you’re telling yourself you’re a  _ good person _ and you’re offering this  _ poor, defenseless girl  _ help, but you’re just an insufferable, meddling-” 

 

She stops herself. He’s flushed with guilt, eyes wide and seriously taken aback,, and she feels immediately guilty.  _ My temper will be the death of me. _ Her eyes drop to the floor, where the remnants of the hot chocolate stain are fading. When she looks back up, he’s still staring with that infuriating mixture of amusement and annoyance. It’s slightly uncomfortable, thank god the barista isn’t here to judge her. She pushes around one of the napkins with the cumbersome toe of her rain boots, and looks at him uncomfortably.

 

“I-um, owe you an apology. That was… uncalled for.”

 

He relaxes visibly, smiles genuinely. “I’d agree with you, but I’m almost certain that would anger you more.”

 

She doesn’t know what to say, so she nods, jerkily, and then crouches back down to collect the napkins off the floor. This time, he doesn’t ask for permission, just waltzes around gathering her papers. When she returns from disposing the second set of paper towels, he’s collected them all into a stack. 

 

“I-um. Thanks!”

 

He shrugs, smiling, holds out her papers. “You’re a writer?”

 

“Yeah. Well, um, blossoming writer, more like. I’m, uh, a sophomore. At Lewis and Clark.”

 

“Nice. I’m at OHSU.”

 

“… fascinating.” Anne mentally whacks herself. She’s still slightly skittish after  _ the attack _ , embarrassed at her inability to control anger over the pettiest of things, confused that a part of her insists she should know who this man is.

 

He actually has the nerve to laugh, extending a hand. “I’m Gilbert.”

 

She takes it, tentatively. “Anne. With an-um, with an e, please.” 

 

He’s painfully earnest, completely free of the mocking patronization she’s used to. “I’ll keep that in mind.” A part of her registers that he’s still holding her hand. Deja vu is running fervent circles around her mind.

 

_ There are voices around her, beeps and flashes and white white white and she doesn’t have the energy to fight it. She wants to open her eyes, to reorient herself, to escape, but she’s not ready to re-immerse herself in a world of lights and feverish, panicked voices. Someone takes her hand, smoothes out her fist. _

 

_ Her entire body relaxes.  _

 

_ She’s not okay. Not yet. But for now, she’s safe. _

 

He gestures to the door. “I should be heading out now.” 

 

Anne swallows, nods, drops her gaze back to her chocolate-stained papers. Maybe if she concentrates, she can finish the fourth chapter in an hour.

 

The chimes break her focus almost instantaneously. He’s cracked open the door, hovering, eyes fixed on her. “See you around, Anne.”

 

She smiles back at him, tentative, confused. 

 

The door shuts and she exhales. The barista shuffles back out, apron and wet towel in hand, and eyes the redhead up and down.

 

“Sorry hon, but you should start packing up. We close in fifteen minutes.”

 

“O-okay.” 

 

She stuffs her papers into her canvas backpack, hands the unharmed mug to the barista.

 

“Sorry about spilling the drink everywhere.”

 

“No harm done.” Her smile is peppy, genuine. She drops her voice to a whisper. “By the way, that guy’s a  _ total  _ keeper. If you don’t date him  _ I will _ .” 

 

Anne’s voice hits the harmonic scale. “What? I mean- don’t be ridiculous. I hardly even know him.”

 

She flutters her eyes dramatically, speaks with mocking haughtiness. “A true romantic knows a connection when she sees one.” She holds out her hand, smiling. “I’m Ruby.” 

 

\-------------------------

_ Her body is driven backwards. Her head cracks against the wall, and she’s reeling from the force. Her vision blurs, then sharpens, adrenaline flooding every crevice of her body. She can hear her voice, but it feels like it’s coming from miles above. _

 

_ Silver flashes, scarlet follows. She thinks she screams, but she’s not sure. She’s floating in blood, surrounded in its sticky embrace, and it’s revolting and nauseating but she doesn’t have the energy to care.  Her entire body throbs, pulses, oscillates like a seismic wave, and it hurts so much so much so much- _

 

_ Too much. _

\-------------------------

 

Anne sees him two weeks later. They’re on the cusp of spring, and the sky is finally peeking through the clouds. She’s convinced Diana to abandon her psych notes for an afternoon and is currently dragging her best friend around her new favorite park. Diana’s not really a park person, but she’s happy that her friend is trying, so so earnestly, to find joy in the smallest of things, and she won’t be one to hold her back. Ruby doesn’t get off her shift until noon, but she’s promised to join them right away. 

 

He notices her first, lingering by a damp bench, book open in his hands and forgotten. She’s oblivious, caught up in an impassioned rant to her friend. As suspected, she doesn’t notice him until she nearly runs over him. She shrieks, clutches her friend’s shoulder, and hastily attempts to regain her composure. 

 

Being the complete gentleman he is, he stands up. “Anne. So nice to see you.”

 

Anne’s fingers are still curled around the sleeve of Diana’s dress, but she shakes her head to clear her vision and smiles back. “You as well.” Her face is heating up and her hand is tightening around Diana’s sleeve. Unable to think of anything else to say, she blurts, “Why are you here?”

 

It’s honestly annoying, how utterly unfazed he seems to be. If she didn’t feel like she owed him her life, she’d probably whack him with her handbag. “Midterms ended this week, so I thought I’d spend some time away from the library.”

 

Diana wisely injects herself into the conversation, sparing Anne the slightest bit of mortification. “Our midterms are next week, but Anne insisted on dragging me out on this ‘ethereal spring morning’.”

 

He laughs, and it’s kind of adorable, and Anne immediately hates herself for thinking so.

 

Ruby chooses this particular moment to materialize to Anne’s right. “Hey Anne, Diana, you’ll never guess- Oohhh”

 

She takes one look at the scenario before her, tugs Diana’s arm, and the two practically sprint in the direction of the bathroom, whispering furiously.

 

Anne curses her friends’ nonexistent “romantic radars”. Everything is annoying her, the tiny flies that seem to populate the air this morning, the clouds that linger in the sky like they can’t make up their mind  to rain or not, the way Gilbert won’t look at anything but her. 

 

She has to leave she has to leave or she  _ will _ combust. “Um- I should probably check on- see where- my, uh, friends went, so..” She turns to walk calmly after her friends when his hand stops her.

 

Her entire body relaxes and she doesn’t know why.

 

“I was wondering, How to Train Your Dragon is coming out this weekend and Toothless is kind of my spirit animal, do you want to come see it with me?”

 

_ Toothless is his spirit animal?  _ She’s read the How to Train Your Dragon series and it’s not her favorite, but she won’t deny that the thrill of clinging to the back of a speeding dragon inches above the surface of a cerulean lake hasn’t crossed her mind before (it's one of the many joys of having an untamable imagination, you never know what your mind will dream up next). 

 

“Uh, sure?”

 

“Thanks! Sunday, 7:15pm, Fifth Avenue Cinema, I’ll see you there.” His smile is enigmatic, reassuring, and Anne can’t help but grin back.

 

“Yeah, see you!”

 

A part of her wants to tell Ruby and Diana about her, for lack of a better word,  _ date _ , but the more sensible side of her promises she’ll regret it. She finds them leaning smugly against a tree, eyes sparkling, stifling giggles behind a smile, and rolls her eyes but says nothing. Still, her friends don’t miss the way she practically skips through the park, how her cheeks are rose-tinged and practically glowing, the way her heart seems so light it could float up to the sky.

 

\-------------------------

 

_ She doesn’t know when the footsteps recede. Seconds, minutes, stretched into an eternity. Time has no meaning  _

 

_ She’s hyper-aware of everything around her, everything except her own body. Her backpack is torn in the kind of way that even a needle and thread can’t mend, papers strewn and shredded, papers on which she poured her soul, her intellect, her ideas. Her hair is undone from its twin braids, fine strands knotted, damp, plastered to the puddles collected on the cobblestone ground. Her clothes are thin, shredded like fine paper, offering scant protection from the cold. Her water bottle is cracked, leaking, and she thinks, ironically, not much different from herself. She’s given up. It’s over. _

 

_ Maybe dying isn’t so bad. _

 

\-------------------------

He doesn’t know what brings him to a dimly lit backstreet in Southwest Portland, but he’s so,  _ so _ thankful that he did. The air around him is stifling, unbearably peaceful in an uneasy kind of way. He wants to scream, but years of practiced impulse control stop him, as quickly and effortlessly as instinct.

 

There’s a girl, and she’s beautiful, and she’s broken. She’s curled up on the floor, in the puddles of an evening shower, bleeding, unconscious. Her wings are splintered, her aura shattered. The word  _ unsalvageable _ comes to his mind, but he stops himself immediately.  _ No, that’s not true. She’s not beyond saving _ .  _ She’s not. _

 

He’s numb as he crouches beside her, checks her bleeding forearm for a pulse. He’s numb as he recognizes the shaky heartbeat, faint as a wispy cloud, and as his entire body relaxes in relief. He’s numb as he dials the emergency number, numb when they arrive and question him about a complete and utter stranger.

 

They lift the unconscious girl onto a stretcher, speed to the hospital in a blur of red and blue lights. He can’t see her over the back door of the ambulance, but that jarring image is still there, etched into his mind. 

 

It’s terrifying.

 

He doesn’t want to see any human being like that, so broken and vulnerable, without knowing how or being able to help.

 

He doesn’t know if he’ll see her again. He doesn’t know if she’ll be okay.

 

_ He wants to know. _ He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted something so strongly in his entire life. 

 

For now, all he can do is wait, and hope, and send his purest wishes into the universe.

 

_ You’ll get better. You’ll heal. I promise. _

 

\-------------------------

Thank goodness for Cole. Thank _ actual goodness  _ for Cole.

 

Anne has spent the better part of an hour pacing around her best friend’s dorm room, anxious and high strung and shaking. Cole is like an infinite ocean of wisdom and calm. His presence is soothing, supportive, nurturing, but she’s way off balance today, and even her rock-solid friend can do little for her.

 

“Anne,  _ he’s _ the one who asked  _ you _ . I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

 

She whips around to face him, and her braids flop gracelessly over one shoulder. She scowls, pushing them back. “ _ I don’t want to hear logic. _ ” She pauses at the disguised and temporary shock on his face. “I mean-sorry. I just- I’m worried I guess. I’ve never been on a…  _ date _ before.” The word  _ date _ comes out half formed, a choked whisper, and her face feels like it’s been submerged in steam.

 

Cole raises an eyebrow. “It’s more than that. Obviously. You’re not half bad with people, Anne, you charm pretty much everyone you meet. It’s not first date nerves.” He eyes her pointedly, then drops his gaze back to a half-finished sketch.

 

Anne stares at him, then exhales. “Okay. Fine. It’s not. But…  you’d think I’m stupid.”

 

“Try me.”

 

“It’s- I feel like- this guy, I’ve  _ seen him somewhere before. _ Somewhere  _ important _ . Like I  _ know him _ . And it’s not like he’s  _ not _ nice, he’s patient and actually kind and I-” she stops to swallow, “I’m not sure if he’s just playing with me.  _ If he’s dangerous. _ ”

 

Cole regards her with curious silence.

 

“See, I told you you’d think it’s-”

 

“You think he’s the one who attacked you.”

 

Words cascade from her lips, her usual control and composure escapes her. “ _ No _ ,  _ I didn’t say that _ , it’s just I’m  _ scared _ and I don’t know what to expect and I hardly even know him but he’s  _ nice to me _ , and it’s almost too good to be true, and-”

 

Cole grabs her by the shoulders, effectively shutting her up. “Anne. I’ve never seen him, but from what I know,  _ he cares about you. _ And you care about him. ” When she continues to stare at him, unconvinced, he adds, “if you want, though, I can come with you. And like, sit somewhere else just in case-”

 

She exhales shakily. “No. No, I think I’ll be okay. It’s a crowded movie theater, I’ll be safe.” Grabbing one of his ink-stained hands, she adds, earnestly, “Thank you, though.”

 

He squeezes her upturned palm, and his smile stays with for the rest of the evening.

\-------------------------

 

She arrives late to the movie, making a wonderful first impression, as always. She curses to herself and hopes his impenetrable patience will hold up. (Thankfully, it does.) He’s saved her a seat in the highest row, and she jogs up the steps, attempting to keep her footsteps as quiet as possible. She apologizes softly as she sits down, but he’s, once again, unfazed, waving enthusiastically.

 

It’s as if he’s indefinitely happy, being in her presence. 

 

Despite her lukewarm opinion of the book, the movie is amazing. Judging by Gilbert’s reaction when Toothless appears on camera, he wasn’t lying about the whole spirit animal thing. Anne loves the idea of friendship between humans and animals, true love transcending boundaries, and the bond between man and dragon is just so pure she tears up at the end. There’s nothing they won’t do for each other. They’re more than friends, they’re a part of each other and completely and utterly loyal and kindred spirits and it’s beautiful.

 

Afterwards, she’s practically shaking with the need to rant, but she’s not sure how much Gilbert would appreciate her tactless word waterfalls. Instead, she tentatively tells him that she liked it. He asks her why, and it takes her a moment before she realizes he’s  _ inviting her  _ to explain.  

 

He doesn’t tell her to shut up or shoot down her ideas at all, and when she finally stops to breathe, he interjects. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

 

She nods enthusiastically. and her eyes are wide, reflecting the moon. “It was  _ so _ much more than I’d imagined.” She stops walking, looks up at him, hands tucked into the pockets of her oversized coat. “Thank you. For taking me.”

 

“Of course.”

 

Her grin fades as their gazes lock. She has to physically will her heartbeat back to baseline, pull her eyes away from his.

 

Her voice reappears, dry and shaky. “I should.. probably be heading back now.”

 

She’s unable to place the emotion that flashes over his eyes for the briefest moment. “Um, maybe I should walk you home?”

 

Something in her doesn’t want him to leave either. She hasn’t been out at night alone since the incident. She’s not sure if she’s become more skittish or more trusting, or both. “Um, if it’s not too much trouble.”

 

He shakes his head, gestures in the direction of her college. The silence between them isn’t nearly awkward, but of course Anne decides to freak out about impressions and crushes and all things completely irrelevant. 

 

She speaks occasionally, mostly to give directions or comment on how beautiful the stars are. He points out his favorite bookstores, parks. It’s too comfortable. 

 

They’re on a path of cobblestones, passing by a shady alleyway, when Anne realizes. Remembers. She stiffens.  _ There’s someone behind her.  _ She’s trembling violently, eyes wide, face rigid.  _ Silver. Scarlet. Tears. Painpainpain. _ Gilbert turns to look at her immediately.

 

“Anne? Are you okay?” He glances in her direction, eyes falling on the alley for a split second, and realizes, curses himself for his painful navigational incapabilities. “Anne? Stay with me. We’ll get you out of here.”

 

He slides his hand into hers, tugs gently to continue, but she’s not in her body. She’s traveling through time, caught in flashbacks, reliving trauma.

 

_ She’s in a tunnel, floating in a void, submerging in and out of reality. Time is speeding up and slowing down, pressure pulsing through her like a black hole, and she’s the only one who notices. Why can’t anybody see? Why is no one stopping to help her? _

 

When she comes back, her eyes widen. “It was here.” Her voice is soft, like wind dancing over the tips of wheat fields. “ _ I remember _ .”

 

Gilbert’s eyes are fixed on her. He doesn’t want to remind her, but at the same time, wants her to remember.

 

Her grip around his hand tightens. Her voice stiffens; speaking is suddenly much harder than it used to be. “You have… no way of knowing, but, I-I was… in a near-fatal knife attack.” She laughs coldly. “I couldn’t remember anything and now suddenly, I can, and I-I was-”. She seizes involuntarily, he moves to hold her up. Her voice is barely more than a whisper. “ _ It was terrible _ .”

 

“ _ It was _ .”

 

She looks up at him, eyes glazed. “Did you know?”

 

This isn’t a moment for words, he knows, so he nods slowly.

 

“You knew? You-”

 

_ She’s floating, wrapped in arms that aren’t her own. She doesn’t fight it. She’s not tense, not scared, not rigid. She knows she’s headed towards safety. _

 

“ _ You were there? _ ”

 

“I was.”

 

Her eyes are wide, so wide and so ocean blue and pearly with teardrops. “ _ What happened to me? _ ”

 

“I-I don’t know, Anne, I was- I just- you were unconscious and I found you and called 911, and they took you to the ER and I didn’t know anything about you, I didn’t know what happened or who you were or-”

 

Her voice changes again, smooth and silky and cracking with gratefulness. “I knew you were good.  _ I knew it _ .” 

 

Their faces are inches apart. She’s standing on tiptoe, he’s leaning down, and he’s ready to pull away, doesn’t want to take advantage of her when she’s bright-eyed and adoring like this.

 

“ _ You saved me _ .” And she closes the space between them.

 

_ She’s on the cusp of consciousness, like waking from a dream. Voices echo through the bleary chamber of her heart. There’s a hand in hers, and it’s smooth and grounding. She lies there like that, barely perceiving, barely dreaming, when the hand slips from hers.  _

 

_ She wakes up anywhere between the space of a few moments and a few hours, but when her eyes flutter open, her palm is empty, relaxed, the ghost of his hand still clearing her head, grounding her body. _

 

Her lips meet his with the touch of a butterfly. Her hands are fisted, clutching the waterproof material on his jacket, he’s cupped her face with gloved hands. It’s short, almost too short, but she’s already pulled away, pressed her face to his heart, breathing softly, clinging to him like the world could vanish and she’d be whole. He wraps his arms around her, and it’s intimate, almost too perfect, almost unreal. 

 

_ The room is empty, yes, but she still knows. She’ll be okay. _

  
  



End file.
